The Windy Apple

This blog is written to you from….CHICAGO! Yep, that’s right, I moved into my new apartment last week in the big city. If you know me, you know I’m a bit of a country boy libertarian who likes wide open spaces and not traffic, so I’m still in the process of adjusting. So far it’s actually been pretty good; my roommate picked out a really nice apartment in a quieter part of town, so the noise isn’t that bad. We also have big windows, which is badass. 

Along with the new apartment I also have a new job. I don’t want to write too much about it, but basically it sucks. I call people all day for a recruiting agency. Highlights from my first week included one guy who had gotten his resume format from online. Under the section where it said “purpose” he had forgotten to change anything so it just said, “Put what position or classification of employment you wish to attain.” Did I call him to set up an appointment? Yup. The funny part was he actually already had a job and didn’t need our services – go figure.

Probably the worst part of the job is that it involves talking into a phone all day. In case you didn’t know me through my childhood, my voice has never been my best feature. Up until puberty it was soft and compared to “Michael Jackson”, when I hit the beginning of adolescence it lowered to the dulcet tones of a forty year old woman. It was only around 17 that it blossomed into the healthy fourteen year old boy register that it exists at today. This, of course, made talking into the phone a treat. When I was younger it was all right because I was little, but post-puberty was humiliating when everyone thought I was my mother when I answered the phones.

Some actual excerpts from actual junior high phone conversations:

Me: “Hello?”
Lady: “Hi, Carol, I was just looking at the reports and I think…”
Me: “This is Tedd.”
Lady: “Oh! Oh, Tedd! You sound so much like your mother!”
Me: “Uhhh…”
Lady: “No, you sound just like your mom. It’s crazy how much your mom you sound like. You sound like your mom. Your mom is who you sound like.”

Another:

Me: “Hello?”
Lady: “Carol?”
Me: “This is Tedd.”
Lady: “Oh, Tedd! Your voice is so deep now! You sound just like your mom!”

Basically from 6th grade to present I have avoided all contact with phones. How ironic that now I spend ALL DAY on one. 

Also ironic is the fact that I am now helping people find jobs. Me who was jobless, worked in a Turkish restaurant, slayed cockroaches, and was the party bum for six months, is now the guy who calls accountants and finance majors to schedule job interviews. Oh, sweet irony of post-graduate life.

In addition to reviewing my painful adolescence, I thought I’d also use this blog to write about why I hate the city, which is a daily itemization in my mind. I’m sure this list will grow as the year goes on, but in brief.

1. The grocery store: Growing up the grocery store was like the center of life. All of my brothers and I refused to go with my mom there because she would end up talking to people for many moons. The grocery store in Chicago is like an obstacle course. For some reason all people think it’s a great idea to bring their whole family to buy food, so just trying to get down the cereal aisle I have to hurdle over four small children, slide between an artsy, hipster couple and then shimmy awkwardly around an old woman who thinks it necessary to position the cart in a bisecting line to the parallel line of the store shelves, making passing impossible. This would all be forgivable if these people were acquaintances, like in a small town store, but in Chicago they are just blobs of carbon-based mass that block the Cocoa Puffs. Also irritating about this whole mess is that there is no Shop n’ Save in Chicago, which means people live and die by those damn cards that give discounts. WHY? WHY MUST I HAVE A CARD?? WHAT OMIPOTENT POWER DOES IT HAVE THAT LETS IT TAKE 2 DOLLARS OFF SPECIAL K?? Luckily they have learned here that the cards are a needless grocery bureaucracy and will just scan a random card when you go up…ugh… I hate those things.

2. The gym is also an evil in the city. It is busy 24/7. No matter what time you go in it will be busy and there will always be some guy on the one piece of equipment that I need. If it’s not some guy it’s that chick who does ten sit-ups on the sit-up machine and then sits on it for three hours waiting to catch her breath before she cranks out ten more. Another downside to city gyms is the huge quantity of douchebags it draws to them. When I joined the gym in St. Louie the douchebag to normal human ratio was like 1:10; in Chicago it is easily 3:1. Every where you look is a douche – fine if you are a feminine orifice in need of cleansing, but not so great if you just want to use a bench press and ten talking pairs of pecs are standing in front of you. I went in yesterday and actually got to work out which was amazing. Usually I just do like one set of something then run on a treadmill for twenty minutes until I’m so sweaty you could chase me in a greased pig contest. 

3. City Evil #3: Organic Peanut Butter is 11 dollars… O.M.G.

4. City Evil #4: There is a whole lot more awkward in my life now that I ride a train to and from work and ride an elevator up 24 floors to my office suite. I will never perfect the soulless train stare that lets you just stare into some undefined space inconspicuously. I’m always just staring at a point that happens to be on some huge dude’s forehead, or just above someone’s head, just low enough over their head that they think I’m staring at them. Today on the El I was staring somewhere and this guy thought I was staring at him. I could tell because he glared at me for like ten minutes before I even realized he was looking back at me. Elevators also suck – my favorite moment was when three people I recognized from my new job got into an elevator and we did this awkward like… “Ehhh huhh….hey?” Then we all kind of wondered what to say to each other for 24 floors. I, of course, in-tune with the natural awkward energies in the universe start giggling realizing what was happening. Seeing as I'm only the phone wench at the office anyway, everyone probably thinks I'm a little special and can't handle any real jobs. I don't think the giggling changed anyone's opinion. 

I think that’s it for this go around, seeing as I have to wake up in like 8 hours for WORK...so lame; not at all the life of the boho writer I strive to be. Oh well, sorry again for wasting your Internet surfing time.